


the holy palmers' kiss

by ShowMeAHero



Series: no path runs smooth [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dinner, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, First Dates, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, Kid Fic, Kissing, Lightsaber Training (Star Wars), M/M, Making Out, Sexual Tension, Sparring, The Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28441644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: “If you might want to keep it,” Luke tells him, bathed in shining emerald light, “then you better learn how to use it.”Din’s blood races with energy andwant.He presses his thumb into the release on the Darksaber. The energy practically rushes out, the space empty one moment and full the next, overflowing with a black void of power. It hums as he moves it experimentally. He sees it shimmering, but the blade in the center never wavers, perfectly concentrated. Already, it feels almost like an extension of his arm.“I think you’re right,” Din says to Luke.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Series: no path runs smooth [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068683
Comments: 75
Kudos: 780





	the holy palmers' kiss

**Author's Note:**

> "if i profane with my unworthiest hand  
> this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:  
> my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand  
> to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
> 
> "good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,  
> which mannerly devotion shows in this,  
> for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,  
> and palm to palm is **holy palmers' kiss.** "

Din hasn’t had a kitchen to cook in in— ever.

He’s not much of a chef, but he thinks he’d like to work on the skills. If he can stay in one place for long enough to keep at it in the kitchen, that is. He’d like to make food that tastes better than the quick things he throws together just to sustain himself.

Regardless of how much he’d like to learn to cook, he hasn’t yet. While the sun is still in the sky, he packs Grogu into his satchel and brings him to the dining hall, scoping out dinner for the night. The second the droids lay eyes on Grogu, they’re bringing him a plethora of little snacks, though, so Din doesn’t think he needs to be half as crafty as he thought he’d need to be to get food.

“Can I have meals for three people for tonight?” Din asks the closest droid. They hand Grogu a bundle of pastries before beeping at him and whirling away.

Din’s been trying to learn binary from Luke, but he’s been trying to learn a lot from Luke. Listening to him try to teach Din skills like droidspeak when things are still so new and fragile between them is nearly impossible. Luke’s been trying to learn from him, in return, but still. They get distracted more often than not.

So, he has no idea what the droid is saying, but he catches a few words, and he understands the slight intonation. Grogu coos at him, so Din waits, shifting his weight while the droid whirls to the back of the kitchen. When they come back, it’s with a large bundle tied together with cloth that they pass over into Din’s gloved hands. The droid beeps at him, and Din inclines his head.

“Thank you,” he says. The bundle joins Grogu in the satchel.

Grogu coos up at him.

“Don’t eat that,” Din instructs him. Grogu looks down into the bundle, then starts to tug at one of the edges to open it up. “I said  _ don’t  _ eat that. That’s for supper tonight. Luke will want to have some.”

Grogu huffs, but he stops pulling at the cloth. He keeps his hands on it, though, as Din brings him back home and unpacks him with the food, laying it all out on the little table they have in their temporary home.

“Should I…” Din starts to ask Grogu, then trails off. Grogu looks up at him all the same, head tilted, waiting for more. Feeling slightly absurd, Din asks, “Should I organize it? Make it look nice?”

Grogu murmurs, looking over the plate settings. He reaches out, and one of the plates slides closer to Din.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Din comments, just as there’s a knock on their front door.

The both of them look at each other, for a moment, before Din pushes his chair back from the table.

“Stay here,” he tells Grogu, setting him in his small chair. Grogu grabs for his bowl, dragging it close, and Din leaves him to it to answer the door.

Luke, on the other side, isn’t in his robes. He’s just in tight black all over, a dark long-sleeved shirt and black paints up past his waist, impossibly tight. Din just stares down at him for a moment before remembering himself.

“Come in,” Din says, and steps back. Luke’s smiling, when Din looks to his face, finally, but it took a second for him to get there. It almost seems like Luke’s smiling wider for how long it  _ did  _ take Din to get there.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Luke says. He steps inside, but pauses, right beside Din. When he tilts his head just that small amount to look up into Din’s eyes, through his visor, Din inhales sharply. He feels lucky the sound is masked by his helmet, but it feels like Luke heard it all the same.

“It’s my pleasure,” Din says. He motions inside and says, “Please,” and Luke follows suit, stepping further into the house. Din hasn’t accumulated many belongings just yet, but he and the kid have been here on Yavin 4 for a few weeks now. Even Grogu’s been accumulating things, bits and baubles he finds throughout the day and keeps in his little room.

“Hello, Grogu,” Luke says to Din’s son with such open warmth and familiarity that Din smiles to himself inside his helmet. “What do we have here?”

“I found out they had Worrt casserole for supper tonight,” Din tells him. “After you told me you grew up on Tatooine, I thought you might want that.”

Luke turns away from the table to look at Din with such delight and incredulity that Din is, for a moment, sure that he must have done something slightly wrong, or made some social misstep.

“I’m not much of a chef,” Din says. “They gave me a, uhh— an Eopie cream pie.”

Grogu coos, then reaches for Luke. When Luke turns back to him to listen, Din assumes, Grogu keeps making sounds at him, noises Din doesn’t recognize. Luke nods, though, and he’s grinning when he looks back to Din.

“He says you asked them yesterday to make it,” Luke tells Din. “The pie, I mean.”

“Traitor,” Din says to Grogu, looking right by Luke to him. Grogu just smiles at him, digging up another handful of casserole, fully ignoring his spoon.

“I think it’s incredibly sweet of you,” Luke tells him. Din’s still prickling, almost, at being found out so quickly, called out by his own son in front of— Well, in front of  _ Luke,  _ of all people, the man that Din—

“It was nothing,” Din assures him.

“Well,” Luke says, “Thank you all the same. This is one of my favorites.”

Din nods towards Grogu. The kid’s grabbing fistfuls of casserole to shove into his mouth. “Looks like he likes it, too. Hey,” he says, when Grogu nearly chokes and half-coughs. “Slow down.” He looks to Luke, says, “Sorry.”

“I’m used to kids,” Luke reminds him. He turns part of the way back towards the table. “Mind if I…?”

“No, please,” Din says, and Luke sits. The chair he took is right across from Grogu, and so Din sits between them. He offers Grogu his spoon again; Grogu ignores him, but, when Din pushes it closer, Grogu accepts it, curling his sharp fingers around it.

Din has never been simultaneously so grateful for the mask of his armor, and so frustrated by the lack of visibility it gives him. Every time Din takes a bite, he tilts his helmet up, eats, and pulls it back down. He’s not sure when he’s going to take the helmet off in front of Luke again, if ever, but he’s already shown him his face once. Luke’s seen his mouth at least twice, now. That’s enough of a concession until Din figures the rest of it out.

The entire meal makes him tense, but he can’t even tell if Luke feels it. From the easy way he relaxes in his chair, scarfing down Worrt casserole and Eopie cream pie like he hasn’t eaten it in years, Din doesn’t think Luke feels tense. When Din thinks about it, though, he probably hasn’t eaten a home-cooked meal in years. From what Din’s seen, Luke spends pretty much all of his time taking care of the village and the people in it, teaching their children, building their homes. Din doesn’t quite feel right in his company, uncomfortable and not sure how to express that without pushing Luke away.

Eventually, Luke says, “You’re quiet tonight.”

“I’m always quiet,” Din replies. “Ask anyone.”

“Not like this,” Luke points out. Din doesn’t know when Luke became aware of how often Din talks, or what his silences sound like, but it makes his pulse race to realize. “What’s on your mind?”

Din huffs a small laugh. He lifts his head and, across the table, meets Luke’s eye. Kind of— He sees Luke’s eyes, but Luke can’t see his, he knows.

“You,” Din tells him honestly.

“Me,” Luke says. Not a question, but a statement, like he’d expected it. He pushes his plate back on the table so he can prop his elbows up near the edge, tangling his fingers together. His chin rests on his interlocked hands as he surveys Din, studying his helmet, then flickering down to his shoulders. Din knows what he’s doing, recognizes it right away as Luke reading his body language. He shifts in his seat again, straightens up. “What about me? Something bad?”

“No,” Din says. After a moment, he says, “Well, not— No, not bad.”

“What are you thinking?” Luke asks him. Din hesitates still. “You can tell me, Din. I won’t be angry with you.”

“I’m not worried you’ll be angry,” Din replies. Luke doesn’t say anything, just studying Din still, so Din pushes his own food away and leans forward on the table, too. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“Then I’ll withhold judgment until you tell me you’re done talking,” Luke allows. Din still regards him skeptically.

“I don’t know,” Din says honestly.

“It’s okay,” Luke says. “No matter what, I’m not kicking you out of the village. You and Grogu are always welcome here, even if you asked me to leave right now.”

For a long moment, Din just watches Luke. The way he says things, even the things he  _ says,  _ and the way he carries himself, it all screams of honesty. He seems impossibly genuine, incredibly honest. Din wants to believe him.

“You don’t do a lot of things for yourself,” Din tells him. “It just… I don’t see many leaders like you.”

Luke laughs, startled out of him. Din shifts backwards again, but Luke hurries to say, “No, I’m sorry, I just— I wasn’t expecting that. Don’t let Leia hear you calling me a  _ leader,  _ she’ll laugh right in your face.”

“Are you not the leader here?” Din asks. Everything he’s seen has only indicated that everyone here looks to Luke for guidance. “You seem like you’re in charge.”

“I’d say Leia’s in charge,” Luke says. “She’s the princess, and the general. I’m just the teacher.”

“Everybody trusts you,” Din points out.

“That’s nice to hear,” Luke says. “I’m glad. But I’m not their leader. I’m barely in control of my classes.”

That makes Din frown. “The children adore you.”

“They’re still children,” Luke says, “in a brand-new home, in the middle of a conflict they can’t begin to help fight. It’s still a lot.” Luke pauses, just for the space of a breath, before he adds, “And I’m not selfless. Pretty much  _ everything  _ I do is for myself. I’m a pretty selfish guy, as it turns out.”

“You’re not,” Din argues, automatic. “Why do you say that?”

“Because this is what I wanted to do,” Luke tells him. Din surveys him, watching him, waiting for an explanation that makes sense. “I should’ve— I don’t know, gone off and formed some great Jedi alliance, or something. That’s probably the right thing to have done. Restore order to the galaxy and all that, right?” Luke laughs at himself, drops his hands to the tabletop and taps his fingers there. Sheepishly, it seems, he adds, “Instead, I holed myself up here.”

“I don’t see it that way,” Din says. “You answered when the kid called for you. You’re training these kids to use the Force. These aren’t the actions of a selfish man.”

“You live contract to contract, and yet you protected this child throughout the galaxy,” Luke says, seemingly out of nowhere. Din bristles again. “Why?”

“Because—” Din starts to say, then stops.

“It’s okay,” Luke says.

Din pauses. He weighs the benefits of being honest against the potential negative outcomes. Eventually, he says, “Because it was the right thing to do.”

“It was,” Luke says. “We’re not really all that different, Din. Are we?”

Din huffs a laugh. “No. I suppose we’re not.”

The both of them are quiet for a moment. Luke’s startled out of it by Grogu’s quiet snore, asleep in his chair, head hanging over his empty bowl. This happens most nights; Din’s long since used to it.

“I’ll put him to bed,” Din says, pushing back from the table. “Maybe we can go out back afterwards. I can bring the Darksaber.”

Luke nods. He gets up, too, and starts lifting dishes.

“I’ll take care of that,” Din says, but Luke waves him off. Din lifts Grogu carefully, but he doesn’t need to; he knows the kid’s out cold. He doesn’t wake up through Din taking him to the sling he sleeps in, tucking him in and wrapping his blankets around him. Still, Grogu sleeps. For a moment, though, Din hovers over him, setting his gloved hand over the child’s forehead. The day he’d spent without him had been one of the worst in his life, and Grogu hasn’t even been in his life that long. It’s strange, to consider staying in one place for any amount of time, but it’s even stranger to find he doesn’t mind it all that much. Last year, he’d have thought it was strange he’d do anything solely for the welfare of a child he didn’t even know at the time.

And yet, here he is.

The clatter of dishes in the next room pulls Din from his own mind again. There’s no point in dwelling in the past, he reminds himself, because he does not live there. He lives in the present, and he can only move forward into the future. Not backwards.

Din pulls the door closed on Grogu’s room. When he turns to Luke in the kitchen, he finds the dishes piled and Luke leaning against his temporary counter, drying his hands.

“Give me one minute,” Din tells him, and Luke nods to her. He keeps the Darksaber locked in a safe he built himself; he doesn’t understand the weapon fully yet, and he’s not about to risk someone else getting their hands on it.

When Din comes back out, Luke is halfway through his back doorway. Din takes the invitation and follows him, pulling his house closed behind him, tight, secure. He’s still unsettled, but he’s relaxed a little bit, he thinks, since arriving. Luke follows Din’s lead to the tree line but, there, they both stop. After a moment, Din holds up the Darksaber, still concealed, in both hands.

“You said it has Dark energy,” Din says. “Is that why it’s called a Darksaber?”

Luke holds out his flesh hand. “May I?” he asks, and Din hesitates before he nods and turns the weapon over. Luke accepts it and looks it over, turning it one way in his hand, then rotating it slowly. When he holds it up, he sighs.

“What’s wrong with it?” Din asks.

“It’s not Dark, necessarily,” Luke explains. “Who did you win this from, again?”

“Moff Gideon,” Din says, and Luke nods, slow.

“He used this weapon for Dark purposes,” Luke explains. He steps backwards from Din, extending his arm to the side, far from his body. Slowly, Luke presses down on the release, and the Darksaber springs to life. The blade comes through in an instant, humming into existence, an empty blackness practically radiating with power. Din watches it, for a moment, before he turns instead to see the reflection of it glowing in Luke’s pale eyes.

“Can you fix it?” Din asks. “Or make that go away?”

“No,” Luke tells him. “Only you can do that.”

“I can’t use the Force,” Din reminds him. There’s no way Luke’s forgotten, but it sounds like it, the way he’s talking. “I can’t  _ make _ something good.”

Luke considers him for a moment before he looks down to the weapon. He moves the lightsaber hesitantly; Din recognizes him testing its weight, for a moment, before he moves more confidently, swinging the Darksaber between them.

Like when Din had watched Luke on the training pitch, practicing with the children, Din can recognize the power in the way Luke moves. The first time he’d seen Luke, even through the surveillance footage, he’d been able to see how skilled he was. While it took all Din had to fight one of those Dark Troopers, Luke took down dozens, by himself, with only a lightsaber. Din has many skills — and many skills he’s sure Luke doesn’t have — but he can’t do  _ that. _

Luke takes another couple of steps backwards to put more space between them. This time, he spaces his feet and plants them, squares his shoulders. Din can’t help but track each and every moment, heart racing. His palms sweat inside his gloves, and he doesn’t even know the last time that happened. Luke spins the Darksaber, then pulls off a series of moves — over his shoulders, behind his head, from hand to hand. When he stops, he retracts the blade back into the hilt, then offers it to Din once again.

“Well?” Din asks, taking the Darksaber back.

“You can use this weapon for anything,” Luke tells him. “It’s not Dark inherently, no more than a person is. You can’t make it good, or bad. It just is. It’s been used for Dark things, but I’ve been researching this weapon, and its name is no more than that, a name.” Luke reaches for his own belt and pulls his lightsaber off of it. When he hits the release on that weapon, a green blade slides out, humming with energy and power. He shows this to Din, as well. “My lightsaber’s kyber crystal is green. The kyber crystal in your weapon is black, hence the black blade and the name. It’s been used for Dark purposes, so it seems like it’s come to fit its name, but you can use this just as I can use my own.”

“I don’t wield lightsabers,” Din tells him. “This doesn’t belong to me.”

Luke raises an eyebrow at him, face awash in the green glow of his lightsaber. “It does.”

“It doesn’t—”

“The Force doesn’t lie,” Luke says. “You may not want it, and you may want to pass it off, but, right now, Din, this weapon belongs to you.”

Din bristles, but the way Luke says it softens him, a bit. He doesn’t  _ want  _ it, but Luke can tell that. He sounds apologetic, almost, and Din appreciates that.

“How do I pass it off, then?” Din asks.

“You lose it in combat,” Luke tells him. It sounds like he’s going to say more, but, ultimately, he doesn’t.

“Or?” Din prompts. Luke sighs, pulling his own lightsaber back in again, casting them both into the darkness once more. The sun’s long since gone down, and the starlight isn’t yet enough to see by. Their eyes need to adjust to the darkness, but Din has the advantage of his helmet and his visor to help. Luke squints, for a moment, and it’s so vulnerable and painfully human that Din wishes his helmet was off, again.

“Or,” Luke says, “You don’t pass it off.”

“I have to,” Din says. He lifts the Darksaber and says, “Bo-Katan told me that having this makes me the ruler of Mandalore. That’s what she wanted.”

“From everything I’ve read, she’s right,” Luke tells her. “This holds weight.” There’s a pause, but only for a moment, before Luke asks, “Do you want that?”

Din doesn’t know what to answer. His instinct is to say  _ no,  _ but the fact that he hesitates at all gives him pause. He looks to the Darksaber in his hands, still muted, though he can feel that it’s still humming with energy even when sheathed. After a long, long moment, staring down at the thing he never wanted in the first place, he looks to Luke.

“I don’t know,” he confesses.

Din can’t begin to understand why, but Luke  _ smiles  _ at him, of all things, after he says that. Luke presses the catch on his lightsaber again to release the blade, and, unexpectedly, holds the thing up like he’s preparing to spar.

“If you might want to keep it,” Luke tells him, bathed in shining emerald light, “then you better learn how to use it.”

Din’s blood races with energy and  _ want.  _ He presses his thumb into the release on the Darksaber. The energy practically rushes out, the space empty one moment and full the next, overflowing with a black void of power. It hums as he moves it experimentally. He sees it shimmering, but the blade in the center never wavers, perfectly concentrated. Already, it feels almost like an extension of his arm.

“I think you’re right,” Din says to Luke. When he tears his eyes off of the lightsaber, Luke is still smiling at him. In fact, it’s a grin now, wide and delighted, expectant, excited.

“You can’t hurt me,” Luke tells him. Din spins the Darksaber between his hands, testing its weight just as Luke had before he pulls it back over his arm.

“Alright,” Din says, heart jumping into his throat as he agrees. Luke’s face has only just begun to flush, his cheeks pinking. In the next moment, he rushes at Din, bringing his lightsaber down over Din’s head.

On instinct, Din moves, and Luke guides him into an almost dance. Din is experienced in a lot of weaponry, a  _ lot,  _ and using a lightsaber starts to come easily to him after not very long at all. Luke moves fluidly, and with expertise and experience, but he also moves like a teacher: slow, exaggerated, explaining his movements as he does them without even seeming to realize he’s doing it. Din’s body is thrumming with the exertion of learning and practicing a new weapon at the same time that he’s practically vibrating with the thrill of his proximity to Luke.

“No, spread your legs more,” Luke instructs him. Din does it automatically, and Luke makes a noise of slight disapproval. “May I?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Din replies, unthinkingly. Luke sheathes his lightsaber again and steps closer to Din, settling in along his back. Luke is only a small bit shorter than him, and he can reach his shoulders and arms well enough. He puts his thigh in between Din’s legs, uses the side of his booted foot to nudge Din’s feet into the spots he wants them. Din straightens up, and Luke senses it the moment their air shifts, the  _ second  _ everything changes.

“I’m sorry,” Luke breathes.

“Don’t be,” Din tells him, before Luke can think it’s for the wrong reasons. “I just— I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Luke laughs, and the sound of it so close to the back of Din’s neck makes his skin break out all over in gooseflesh. “Oh, I’m not uncomfortable, trust me. I thought I was making  _ you  _ uncomfortable.”

Din presses in on the Darksaber to retract the blade once more before he turns to Luke, tilting his helmet down to make it clear to Luke that he’s looking at him. Luke reaches up, smoothing his hand along the beskar of Din’s helmet, thumb sliding over his visor so Din can see it move. Luke’s fingers pry his off the Darksaber, pulling it from his grip and tossing it aside with his own lightsaber, into the darkened grass.

“It’s so dark,” Luke says, almost imperceptible. The sound feels like it echoes inside the helmet.

Din almost feels like he’s going insane as he thinks of an idea. It comes to him in a flash of impulse, and he doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do, or what he  _ should  _ be doing, but it’s what he  _ wants. _ If it’s dark here, it would be even darker in the trees. And if it’s pitch black — if Luke can’t see him — then—

“If we went beyond the trees,” Din asks, voice as low as he can pitch it and still be heard through the modulator in his helmet, “would you be able to see my face?”

“Not if you— Oh,” Luke cuts himself off. “I— No, I can barely even see you now. But I don’t want to—”

“What?” Din asks.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Luke says, but it’s just a fragment. He clarifies, “I don’t want to make you, if you don’t want to.”

Din doesn’t want to think twice about this. He remembers what Mayfeld said to him, he remembers the way Grogu had responded when he saw his face. He’s been thinking about this, and he’s not— not  _ ready,  _ to start shedding the helmet all the time, but he’s willing to try something like this. Small and just a start, but it’s more than nothing.

“I want to tonight,” Din tells him. Luke nods, stepping back to scoop up their lightsabers off the ground with one hand. His other hand, the robotic prosthetic, grabs onto Din’s, and he hauls him for the tree line. Din’s smiling, still in the mask of his helmet. Luke’s eagerness thrums in his own veins, and the trees can’t come fast enough.

The darkness drops over them like a heavy quilt over their heads. Luke sets their sabers aside on a close, low rock. In his absence, Din reaches up and releases his helmet, pushing it up past his nose. He hesitates, just for a moment, before he lifts the helmet the rest of the way off. He grasps it tight, staring down at it between his gloved hands. For that instant, his helmet looks unreal, lost in the darkness, catching the barely-there gleam of beskar in the shadows. Luke’s footsteps come crunching back across the grass as Din sits the helmet down in the grass and leaves.

“Where are you?” Luke asks. Din reaches out for him and finds his shoulder. Instead of moving closer, he uses his teeth to tug the glove off of his other hand. The feeling of fresh air against his skin is wonderful; every slight rustle of the breeze is a rush to him.

“Right here,” Din says. He sets his bare hand on the back of Luke’s warm neck, drawing him closer. As Luke reels in, Din tugs his other glove off with his teeth, tossing them both to join his helmet on the ground. He catches Luke’s face between his bare hands and, this close, can feel the tremor that shakes through Luke in response.

“Din,” Luke breathes. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Din tells him, and pulls him in for a kiss. He keeps his eyes open, for a moment, so he can see Luke’s face up close. Luke’s eyes are shut, this he can see, but he can see the shape of his nose in the darkness, can see his eyebrows and his cheekbones this close. It’s overwhelming, to be so close to another person; the next moment, he feels even closer, as Luke licks along the seam of his lips and sighs, breathing him in. Din can’t help but open up to him, running his tongue along Luke’s until he meets the back of his teeth, and Luke groans.

Luke’s hand comes up to cup Din’s face, skin to skin. His thumb is calloused, brushing along the curve of Din’s cheek, over and over, as they kiss. They break apart, take a breath, and come back together again, tilting their heads just slightly to give them a new angle. Din relaxes into him, relishes in the feel of Luke’s other hand drifting over his hip, fingers whirring as they move.

“You’re a fast learner,” Luke comments, after a couple of minutes, and Din laughs softly, once. “I mean it.”

“You’re funny,” Din tells him. Luke shivers again; Din drops his head down to Luke’s throat. “You like this?”

“I like your voice,” Luke says.

“I talk to you more than I talk to most people,” Din points out.

“But not like this,” Luke reminds him. “Say something else.”

“What do you want me to say, Luke?” Din asks. Luke’s breath rushes out on the exhale.

“My name again,” he tells him.

Din wants to indulge him, but he also wants the maximum reaction from Luke. He draws his teeth over Luke’s skin, just slightly, and presses a kiss there. When he lifts his head, he keeps their heads bowed close. Cheek-to-cheek, he whispers,  _ “Luke,” _ and Luke’s fingers tighten on his hip. 

“I want to be selfish,” Luke whispers into the darkness. It’s a confession, rushed, hurried into the minimal space between them. He pulls Luke’s face to meet his straight on, their noses brushing. “I want to ask you to stay.”

“I can’t promise I will,” Din tells him. He kisses him, a soft close-mouthed press, before separating enough to say, “I can promise I want to, right now.”

“That’s enough,” Luke says. His hand slides down Din’s armored arm, dips into the bend of his elbow, traces down the inside of his forearm until he gets to his bare hand. Luke’s fingers trail along Din’s palm until they tangle up with his own.

The places they’re connected are completely lit up with firelight, blooming through their hands and everywhere they touch. From their joined hands up his arm, from where Luke’s fingers trail across his cheek before he draws him in to kiss again, it’s all overwhelming and intense and intimate, and Din wants more and  _ more. _

“Please,” Din says quietly. Luke nods, pulling Din in to kiss again, and again, until Din loses count and they lose track of themselves altogether. Din pushes Luke backwards two steps until they’re against the closest tree, Luke tugging him in close until he’s completely pressed between Din and the tree. He deepens their kiss first, and Din deepens it more, the two of them pushing further and further until they’re all but tearing at each other. Din can’t remember the last time he felt so much that felt so  _ good  _ all at once.

When they separate, both panting for breath, Din’s hands are shaking. They almost never shake, anymore, but they are now, trembling as he brings them up to frame Luke’s face again. He kisses his closed lips once, softly, just a gentle press.

“Will you come again tomorrow?” Din asks him, low and hidden in the darkness, just like them. He feels Luke nod against him. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Me, too,” Luke says. He kisses Din’s cheek, then turns his face to give him another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Din promises him.

“And I’ll be here for you tomorrow,” Luke replies, quiet. There’s a lump in Din’s throat, abruptly, and he swallows past it to nod and accept another kiss from Luke.

“I can’t promise more,” Din warns him.

“I’m not asking you to,” Luke says. “I’m not. I want  _ you,  _ Din. Don’t worry about offering me something else, all I want is you.”

Din nods. Luke reaches up to grip Din’s shoulder, his fingers lingering there before they slide along to his throat, then to the back of his neck. They grip him there tightly, drawing him in until their foreheads meet. Without the helmet, when their skin meets without any barrier between them, Din feels a spark blossom inside him and grow so quickly he can’t stop the spread. He’s almost instantly warm all over, radiating from their points of contact. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, pushing in even closer, their foreheads digging together.

In the darkness, below the trees, Din can’t see much of anything, but he feels more deeply than he has in so long. He has purpose— more than a career, he has a son, now, too, a child he loves and a man that he’s— he’s interested in, and even more than  _ that,  _ he  _ wants.  _ He wants things that he’s going after, and it’s the most straight-forward and yet, still, refreshing, and exhilarating. He’s almost happy, he thinks. Still tense, still on edge— he knows so much more is coming, and the Darksaber alone is evidence of that— but  _ still.  _ He can’t help but look at all he’s gained.

Luke exhales, tightening his grip at the back of Din’s neck before kissing him again. “Should we go inside?”

“That sounds nice,” Din says. For a long moment, neither of them move. When they do separate, though, Luke breaks away from him, ducking down in the darkness. Din hears the rustling of leaves before his helmet and gloves are being pushed back into his hands again.

“Thank you,” Luke says, and Din doesn’t ask for what, as he puts his helmet back on and lets Luke guide him back out into the thin starlight.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) comment to chat with me, or talk with me about this fic on Twitter at [@nicole__mello](https://twitter.com/nicole__mello) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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